


The Fight in the Dog

by bellatemple



Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Animal Abuse, Animal Transformation, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Stockholm Syndrome, abuse of Arthurian legend, magical torture, no one dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-18 04:55:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13674684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellatemple/pseuds/bellatemple
Summary: Morgan le Fay has plans for Excalibur, and she's willing to go through whoever she has to to get him. And if she happens to be able to cause a little extra pain and chaos for the Library while she's at it, well. That's just a bonus.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The full rough draft for this story has been written, but for once I'm feeling like drawing out the reveal. Expect this sucker to be updated regularly. Tags will be updated as well as plot points are revealed.

_Thou callest me a dog before thou hast cause. But since I am a dog, beware my fangs._  
— Shylock, The Merchant of Venice

Jake had to give Morgan le Fay one thing: when she set out to trap the Librarians, she didn't half-ass it.

She had, in fact, no only managed to capture himself, Cassandra, and Ezekiel (a feat that, admittedly, had not historically proven to be difficult), she also had Baird, Flynn, _and_ Jenkins in her clutches. She'd even managed to get her hands on Cal, who was whimpering in her grip and shivering like a dog at the vet, and all it had taken her was three suspicious artifacts and one psychotic henchwoman. 

A psychotic henchwoman who was, at present, sniffing Cassandra's neck and making orgasmic sounds of pleasure. 

Someday, Jake was going to have to get Cassandra to tell him her secret. 

"Can I keep this one, Morgan?" the henchwoman asked, her nose buried in Cassandra's hair. Cassandra stared wide-eyed at the ceiling, body rigid in the magical tendrils holding her in place. "I haven't smelled magic like this in . . . mmmm. _So long._ " 

"Oh, why not?" Morgan said. "Librarians are pretty disposable on a good day, and right now there's a whole surplus. I'm sure she won't be missed." 

The henchwoman squealed and wrapped her arms around Cassandra. Cassandra screwed her eyes up and complained wordless into her gag. 

Another point Jake supposed he had to give Morgan: she'd done her research. Cassandra and Flynn, the two magically oriented Librarians, were both gagged, but only tied down with a few loops of magic vine. Baird and Jake, on the other hand, were free to talk all they liked, but their limbs were all firmly tied down to stop them from fighting. Jenkins was thoroughly bound hand and foot and gagged for good measure, and Jake was only certain Ezekiel still had hands by how frequently he complained about how thoroughly they were tied together. Getting out of this mess was going to take some seriously creative thinking. 

"Leave her alone," Baird said, all her military training at full force in her voice. "Aren't you supposed to be in hiding? Or has it taken you this long to figure out that the Serpent Brotherhood is out of the picture?" 

"What, that little cult?" Morgan laughed. "Please. The only one of them who had any spark was Galeus's dear old dad. Thanks for getting rid of him for me, by the way. More wild magic for the rest of us." She swung Cal experimentally a few times, then aimed his tip at Jenkins' throat. "You know, I've been wondering: what happens when you give a wound that cannot be healed to a man that cannot be killed?" 

Cal barked urgently, jerking in her hand as he tried to aim himself away, but all Jenkins did was roll his eyes and look put out. 

"What are you even after here?" Ezekiel asked. "Are you actually trying something _interesting_ , or was all this just to get your hands on a magic sword?" 

"Not _a_ magic sword, darling." Morgan redirected Cal's point to aim at Ezekiel's head. Ezekiel went cross-eyed trying to keep his eye on it. " _The_ magic sword." 

"Excalibur's our favorite," the henchwoman said, learning away from Cassandra as though to tell Ezekiel a secret, and ending up pressing herself against Jake's side in the process. 

Oh great! Now she was sniffing his hair too. 

"Mmmm, you smell almost as good as the girl does." She reached up and petted the side of his head, not seeming to mind that he kept jerking his head away from her. "Like spices. And _trees_." 

Trees?

"Gosh," Jake said, leaning as far away from her as he could, which was only about an inch. "Thanks." 

"Don't be greedy, Nimue," Morgan said. "You can only have _one_." 

Nimue scowled, draping herself back over Cassandra protectively. 

_Nimue_ , Jake thought, quickly sorting through Arthurian lore in his head. She was the Lady of the Lake, wasn't she? Though thanks to Cassandra, they now knew that was an entire organization, not a single entity. She was also supposed to be Merlin's lover, too. And the one who ultimately took Merlin down. 

They were maybe just a little bit screwed. 

Morgan held Cal straight up and down, examining his blade. Cal squirmed, but couldn't pull himself out of her grasp. She tisked softly. "Poor little Excalibur. You know, I don't think he's entirely recovered from his sacrifice yet. I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised, though. After all, there were _two_ things that made him the sword he once was. First, of course, was being delivered to a hero by the Lake. From what I've heard, we've got that part covered, thanks to our intrepid Guardian here." She reached over to run her knuckles along Baird's cheek. "Well done there. I knew you had it in you the moment you punched me in the face." 

"Go to hell," Baird said. 

"Not Hell, sweetie," Morgan said, and patted Baird on the head. "Avalon." She paced down her line of captives, swinging Cal idly. Jake ran through what he knew about the mystic island in his head. It was where Excalibur was forged, where Arthur was supposed to be sleeping. He didn't remember it being considered an afterlife, though. 

Considering where and with whom he'd been working, he really should have been studying the legends more carefully. 

"It's the second even that we're missing, isn't it," Morgan mused, pausing as she reached the end of the line, where Cassandra and Jake were bound. Flynn's eyes went wide, and he started yanking against the vines, yelling into his gag. Jake frowned, realizing he'd gotten distracted, and refocused. Why was Flynn freaking out _now?_

Morgan snapped her fingers, and the magic wrapped around Jake retracted violently, shoving him forward as it retreated into the wall. Jake stumbled, and before he could recover, Morgan thrust Cal into his chest. 

"He has to be pulled," she said, giving him a toothy grin. "From a _stone._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come on, you can't have Excalibur and a character named "Stone" in a canon and not expect this to happen at least somewhere. . . .


	2. Chapter 2

Everyone started screaming. Or maybe all the noise was just in Jake's head. He didn't feel pain right away, just a strange, hollow feeling like a chasm opening up deep inside of him. It sent prickles of cold sweat across his skin, and he began to shiver. 

_Shock,_ he thought idly. _I'm in shock. This is what shock feels like._

It felt like something had gone horribly, irreversibly wrong in his body. Which — well yes. That was a great heads up to get, seconds after he'd just been run through with a magic sword. A flesh wound from this blade had nearly gotten Flynn killed; it had taken essentially a magical cataclysm to save him, and Jake had just been stabbed in the chest. He was about to die. Was already dead, really, his stupid, overthinking brain just hadn't caught up yet. Because he was in shock. 

He started shaking, his heart jackhammering in his chest. Which he supposed meant it hadn't gotten hit, which really just meant he was going to die a little more slowly. His stomach rolled over, and he wondered what it would feel like to throw up with a sword in his chest. What if Cal had pierced his esophagus? Then he'd _really_ be screwed. Nausea was a common part of shock, though, and to treat shock, you were supposed to put your head between your knees. 

Well, alright then. He was already kneeling on the ground. He wasn't sure when that had happened, but at least he was one step ahead of the "treating shock" game. All he had to do now was bend over.

He couldn't bend over. There was a sword in his chest. 

And anyway, none of it mattered, since he was already dead. 

For some reason, his right arm was tingling. 

Morgan crouched in front of him, her face screwed up in anger, which didn't much seem fair, since _she_ had just stabbed _him_. She shouted something he couldn't make out over all the screaming. She was still holding onto Cal's hilt, and as Jake watched, she braced her other hand on his shoulder and _pulled_. 

Oh. 

_There_ was the pain. 

The world came back into focus with a rush. Cassandra was crying somewhere behind Jake, Ezekiel sputtering around the word "how" on his other side. Someone, Nimue probably, was cackling in delight. 

And Morgan screamed in rage. 

" _It won't come out!_ " 

Jake almost laughed at that, even as she twisted Cal and pulled again, causing spasms of pain to echo across his chest. Of course she couldn't pull Excalibur back out, no one could pull the sword from the stone except the Once and Future King. That was a fundamental part of the legend. 

She really hadn't thought this part through, had she. 

Morgan grabbed onto the hilt with both hands, her foot against Jake's stomach as she yanked furiously, and despite the way it hurt, Jake really did laugh. It was more than a little hysterical, but the sound was far from the dying gurgle he might have expected, given the circumstances. He realized with a start that he could breathe. He wasn't even sure if he was bleeding. 

And in between Morgan's desperate jerks, the thing that hurt the worst was his _arm_. 

Jake looked down. Cal's hilt glinted fuschia, reflecting the color of the light emanating from where the blade went in — not into Jake's chest, he realized, but into a pool of magic. He could just make out an answering glow on his arm through the thick fabric of his sleeve, where the Monkey King had placed his tattoo. 

He laughed again, sounding insane even to his own ears. He hated that tattoo, and the very idea that it was interacting with one of the Library's most important artifacts filled him with dread — but it had just saved his life. It was either laugh, or he might just start crying. 

Morgan cursed him — possibly actually _cursed_ him, speaking some ancient Celtic dialect he couldn't understand — and let go of Cal's hilt with a frustrated growl. Cal sank the rest of the way into the magical glow before Jake could even think to try grabbing onto the hilt himself. The yawning chasm deep inside him closed over, a sensation that took his breath away. He pressed his hand to his chest, feeling rips through all the layers of his shirts, but his skin underneath remained whole. The glow faded, then winked out, and Jake found himself kneeling on the floor, hale and healthy and unbound. 

He had absolutely no idea what had just happened, but he could work all that out later. Right now, the important thing was that he wasn't dead. And the woman holding his people captive was _right there_. 

Jake surged to his feet, already too committed to his right hook to Morgan's jaw to listen when Baird shouted a warning. It wasn't so much like punching a wall as punching a solid metal bell; Morgan swung with the movement, but it definitely hurt Jake's fist more than it hurt her face. He probably should have moved, changed tactics to try to subdue her if he couldn't outright hurt her, but part of him was still reeling from the trick with the sword, and by the time he finished shaking out his hand, Morgan had him by the throat. She lifted him clear off the ground, and in seconds, Jake was seeing spots. 

"Change of plans, Nimue," she said, never pulling her furious gaze from Jake's face. "Looks like we're going to be keeping both of them after all." 

The spots swarmed over the center of Jake's vision, and as the world faded to black, he could swear he heard Nimue cheer.

*

Jake eased open his eyes, resisting the urge to groan. His throat hurt like he'd been gargling gravel, and his arm felt like someone had been hammering on his funny bone. He was on his side, legs awkwardly sprawled, his right arm stretched out palm down along the floor past his head. He tried to get up, or at least roll into a less painful position, but he came up short against a metal cuff at the top of his arm, just below his shoulder, holding him tight to the floor. He could feel a series of smaller bands wrapping each of his fingers, and looked up with a frown. Who locked someone up by the fingers?

His overshirt had been removed at some point, leaving his whole arm bare. A medieval long sword was inked along the outside of his forearm in minimalist relief, the hilt at his elbow, the narrowed point ending just past the knuckle at the base of his middle finger. A line of tiny Chinese characters, what remained of his Shangri-La tattoo, ran along either side of the sword's blade. 

_Cal._

None of the metal cuffs covered or intercepted the design at all, Jake noticed, even as he struggled to keep panic at bay. He remembered all of it, Morgan's classic villain monologue, the peppered details straight out of legend, the feeling of Cal sinking into — not his chest, but _him_ , anyway. Was Cal in the tattoo, or lurking somewhere else inside Jake, waiting for Arthur's return so he could be set free? 

"She's trying to get it out." 

Jake startled, jerking up only to collapse back down onto his arm again. He never would have thought of it, but it turned out tying just one arm to the floor was a reasonably effective way to incapacitate a person. He looked up, bracing himself for an attack, then relaxed again as best he could when he saw there wasn't an immediate threat. The room was vast and dimly lit, a grand chamber in an ancient castle, but Cassandra was a bright spot against the darkness. She huddled against a pillar about twenty feet away from him, looking small and cold and alone. 

"It's not working," she said. "I guess Celtic magic isn't that compatible with Chinese." She let out a desperate little giggle. "I don't think you absorbing Cal was part of her plan." 

"Nah," Jake agreed, inspecting the tattoo again. "Pretty sure her plan was that I'd just die." 

There was a heavy silence while Jake tried in vain to shift positions. He couldn't even see Cassandra without lifting his head and craning his neck, and he couldn't hold that awkward position for long. Still, he supposed, at least she wasn't somewhere behind him. 

"Cass," he said finally. "Are you okay?" 

He heard her sigh. "Better, now that you're awake again. But — no. Not really." 

Another quiet pause. Jake tried to roll onto his back and nearly dislocated his shoulder. 

"I'm sorry I always brought up dying, back when I had my tumor," Cassandra said, her voice so soft that Jake could barely hear it. "It's not very nice hearing your friends talk about death, is it." 

"Not really." Jake gave up and leaned his head against his arm. "But that was what your reality was. Couldn't blame you for that." 

He'd never come closer to death than he had when Morgan stabbed him. The memory of it made his heart race, but there was something strangely soothing about just baldly saying she wanted him dead. Human brains were weird. 

He shifted into the most comfortable position he could find, half on his stomach with his head propped against his bent left arm, and peered up at Cassandra again. He assumed she was restrained somehow too, since she hadn't moved from the pillar, though in the flickering light of the honest-to-god torches lining the walls, he couldn't tell exactly how. He couldn't tell if she'd been injured, either, and his stomach rolled at the thought of what Morgan and Nimue might have done to her while he was unconscious. "So, uh. Where are our gracious hosts now?" he asked, trying to keep his tone optimistic. "Don't suppose they gave you an itinerary?" 

"They're . . . out," Cassandra said. "I don't know where. They've been gone for about half an hour, this time." 

"This time," he repeated. He wondered how she kept time in here. Probably by the burn rate of the torches. Or maybe her gift came with its own metronome. "How long was I — how long has it been since —" He kept stopping himself, not wanting to think hard enough about what had happened with the tattoo to put it into words. In some ways, magic scared him a lot more than dying did. 

"Three hours," Cassandra said, her voice strangely empty. It was what she sounded like, he realized, when her optimism ran out. "You woke up pretty fast at first, but Morgan's spells. . . . What she's done so far hasn't worked, but it's apparently been pretty painful. You usually pass out again after just a couple minutes." 

Jake swallowed and shifted, trying to ease the tingling ache in his arm. When he looked down at it again, he could see the dark stripes of raw, bruised skin on either side of the cuff on his bicep. Apparently, he'd been struggling. 

"I was always glad when you passed out," Cassandra continued, and Jake could hear tears in her voice, now. "Because it meant you stopped screaming." 

Jake lifted his free hand to his throat, realizing it didn't just hurt from Morgan choking him out. He wished he could go over to Cassandra and pull her into a tight hug, both as a comfort to her, and as a way of grounding himself. "Cass. I'm sorry." 

Cassandra sniffed and rubbed her eyes. "No. I am. You were right all along, Jake. Magic is terrible." 

A set of doors opened with a crash behind him before Jake could respond, which was good since he had no idea what to say. Cassandra flinched back into her pillar. Jake twisted around as best as he could, but no matter what sort of knots he bent himself into, he couldn't see the doors, or the person whose boots he could hear clomping across the floor. 

"Back with us, then, Stone?" Morgan asked, and it was Jake's turn to flinch. Her voice sent ice all along his nerves. "Up for one more try with the circle, or should we move on to something . . . new?" She walked into view and stopped in front of Jake's outstretched fingers, tilting her head at him. Jake's body reacted without his brain's input, yanking back against the metal cuffs holding him down as he tried to back away. Weirdly, he could swear he heard barking. 

Morgan laughed, pressing the toe of her boot down onto Jake's straining fingers. They'd long since gone numb from being tied down for so long, but he could still feel the pressure as she ground them into the tile. He gasped and forced himself to lie still. "It's tempting." She lifted her foot and Jake sagged. "I do like watching my little Stone struggle. Still, I know when to change tactics. I'm not _that_ kind of crazy." She stomped down on his fingers again until Stone cried out, terrified that they might break, then turned and headed towards Cassandra instead. 

"How about you, then? Cassandra, isn't it? You're a would-be wizard, or Nimue wouldn't be interested. Do you have any ideas for getting the sword out of that Stone?" 

It occurred to Jake that when Morgan referred to him as "Stone", she wasn't using it as his name. The thought of it made him shiver. 

Cassandra spat at her. 

Jake saw Morgan's foot swing and heard Cassandra grunt, along with a rattle of chains. He pictured a full complement of shackles: wrists, ankles, and throat, and felt ashamed for being held down by only a few thin strips of metal. He shifted, feeling for the band on his bicep. If he could find the lock, maybe he could pick it. He had no idea what with, but it was the only shot he had. He was so focussed on his task that he didn't hear the second set of footsteps until they were practically on top of him. Nimue appeared above him, bent at the waist so that she stared at him upside down. "The stone thinks he's clever," she said, reaching down to pat him on the head. "That's a magic manacle, baby. No locks. Did you think she just happened to have them built into the floor in the perfect size and shape for your arm?" 

Jake stopped fumbling at the metal band, his cheeks heating up. No locks. God, but he hated magic. 

"You look really uncomfortable," Nimue said. She snapped her fingers and kicked him in the shoulder, sending him toppling onto his back, his arm thankfully coming free of the floor as he rolled. Pins and needles shot through from his shoulder to his fingertips as his blood started to return to his nerves. Jake hissed and carefully pulled his hand towards his chest, doing his best to flex his fingers and make sure Morgan hadn't actually broken anything. The manacles were gone as if they'd never existed, but the tattoo was still there, black and accusing. He sent Cal a mental apology, wherever he was. It was probably driving the sword nuts not to be able to help. 

There was that barking again. 

Nimue sat down on Jake's hips, blithely ignoring his attempts to buck her off or wriggle out from under her. She ran a finger along the Chinese characters that lined Cal's blade on his arm, then leaned down and sniffed extravagantly. 

"Where'd you get these, Stone? They make you smell like anise and clove. Like I could eat you right up." 

Jake shoved her back as hard as he could, still trying to throw her off. "Not interested, thanks." 

She ignored him, sliding both her hands up under his shirt, skimming over his stomach until she laid them flat against his sternum. "How did you do it, little stone?" she asked. "I've never seen such a trick before. Who gave you such wonderful magic?" 

Jake tried again to push her away, to knock her over or at least yank his shirt back down, but she just rolled with his movements like she was a rider at a rodeo. He'd never thought before about how frustrating that was for the bull. "Get the hell off of me, you crazy —"

"Nimue!" Morgan stood over him again, and Jake couldn't tell if he should be terrified or relieved. He shot a glance towards Cassandra; she was still huddled against her pillar, curled into an even smaller ball. He looked up and saw Morgan scowl. "I didn't tell you to break the circle." 

Nimue shrugged, her hands still pressed against Jake's chest. They were weirdly warm; he wondered dizzily if he was going to end up with hand-shaped burns to go with his fun new extra-magic tattoo. 

"Fine." Morgan rolled her eyes. "But you'll have to hold the stone down, then." 

That could not possibly be good. 

Jake glared up at her, projecting as much bravado as he could, even as he continued to swat and push at Nimue's hands. "Try all you want, le Fay. You're not getting to Cal." 

"Oh my god. You call it 'Cal.'" Morgan smirked. "That's adorable." She raised her hand, palm down, and started to chant, the same ancient Celtic dialect she'd used before. It sounded like crunching gravel and shifting sand, like it came up from the earth itself. Nimue planted her hands on Jake's shoulders, shoving his shirt up even further, and leaned into him with more weight than could possibly fit into her small frame. Jake braced himself as best he could. He was pretty sure this was going to hurt. 

Morgan's chant finished with a sound like tearing paper. She closed her hand into a fist and _pulled_. 

"Hurt" wasn't even the word for it. All of Jake's insides threw themselves suddenly up towards the top of his head, even as Nimue kept his body firmly pinned to the floor. It was like being slammed at high speed into a brick wall. The world flashed black, then white, then black again, and just as it started to fade back into actual colors, his internal organs settling hopefully back into their rightful places, Morgan closed her fist and it happened all over again, only harder. Jake's back arched with the force of it, even with Nimue holding him in place, his mouth coming open as his body seemed intent on throwing up his liver. Morgan seemed to be reaching down his throat, wrapping her hand gleefully into his intestines. His hands moved almost of its own accord, slapping down over his open mouth to try and hold everything in. It was never going to work. He was being turned inside out. . . .

"Stop it!" 

He thought it was Nimue at first, but she only watched Jake writhe with a manic gleam in her eye. He didn't think he'd ever heard Cassandra speak with such conviction. "The sword's not in his body, you idiot, it's in his _soul!_ Where do you think it'll go if you kill him?!" 

Morgan uncurled her fingers and Jake collapsed back to the floor. Nimue jumped up and scurried over to Cassandra, leaving Jake free to curl himself into the tightest ball he could. 

Nothing in him felt right. He'd thought the shock of being stabbed was bad, but it was nothing compared to what he was feeling now. He was freezing, his whole body shuddering, but his skin was somehow boiling hot. He pressed his face into the cold stone floor (Stone on stone, if he wasn't human, if he was made of rock, at least he couldn't hurt, right?) and tried to remember how to breathe. 

He heard a howl, the forlorn sound of a lone and lonely wolf. His hands were still pressed over his mouth, though, so he knew it couldn't have come from him. 

"Soul magic," he heard someone say, then "Shangri-La." Footsteps hurried past him, and the doors slammed shut. 

Jake and Cassandra were alone again.


	3. Chapter 3

"Jake?" 

Cassandra's confidence from earlier was gone; Jake could barely hear her over the roaring in his own head. 

"Jake, please tell me you're still alive over there." 

Jake dropped his hands from his mouth and let them flop to the floor. After a moment, he managed to stretch one arm in her direction. 

"I'm sorry, Jake," she said. "I couldn't watch them kill you." 

Jake could only muster up a groan in response. 

He lay there a long time, trying to muster the strength to get up. Cassandra had fallen silent again, though the sound of her ragged breathing joined his own as it echoed in the long hall. Slowly, very slowly, his body started to settle again. He was still cold, in a way that seemed to come from his very bones, but his shaking slowed, and the nauseous feeling that his guts were going to make a break for freedom passed. He eased himself from his side onto his stomach, waited for his insides to catch back up with his outsides, then started the long process of getting to his feet. 

"Jake?" Cassandra stared at him, her eyes wide. He wondered how it looked to her, him half-dead and swaying, but still fighting for control. He was like a figure out of a horror movie, he was sure, the shambling monster that refused to stay down. 

He didn't quite make it as far as his feet. He got to his knees, but lifting his head any higher made him feel like he might as well just start dying again, and he was a little afraid of what it might do to his body right now if he really did throw up. He settled for crawling, inching his way across the floor with his head drooping low between his shoulders. The twenty feet to her pillar felt like twenty miles, but he made it, collapsing into a heap next to her. 

"Hey," he said, when he finally had enough breath back for speech. "Fancy meeting you here." 

"You're an idiot," she told him. This close, he could see her tear-stained cheeks and the rising bruise around her eye. 

He was going to kill Morgan for that. For the rest of it, too, but especially for that. 

"Are you okay?" she asked. He shoved himself upright against the pillar and had to close his eyes when the room tried to keep going without him. 

"Not particularly," he said, once things had settled once again. "You?" 

She shook her head and shifted until she was pressed up against his side, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. He wouldn't say so out loud, but having her there helped a lot. Sitting up was not supposed to be hard. The chains connecting her wrists to the pillar clanked as she wrapped her arm around his waist. The chains weren't long, he saw. She had to leave her other hand trailing behind her as she leaned her head against his chest. She'd never be able to spread her hands enough to activate her gift like that. She was warm, though, and sturdy, and "warm and sturdy" were two things that Jake's body desperately needed just now. He turned into her embrace to hang onto her with both arms, resting his chin against her head. 

"So," he said, as he slowly started to feel human again. "Any ideas on how we're going to get the hell out of here?" 

Cassandra let out a wet laugh and slowly straightened, though she didn't move out from between his arms. "Not yet. Don't suppose you know any architectural secrets about big, ancient cathedrals that could help?" 

Jake smiled a little. "It's a great hall," he corrected. "It's got the vaulting and the arcades, but a cathedral would be. . . ." He caught the glazed look in her eye and dialed back on the nerd. ". . . More churchy." 

"There's our Stone," she said, patting him on the chest, then bit her lip and frowned when he flinched. "Sorry! Oh god!" She pulled at his shirt, looking for wounds, then looked up at him wide-eyed. 

Jake shook his head, flushing at her concern. "I'm fine, I just — when they say it, it's not my name. For them, I'm just . . . an obstacle." He gave her a wan smile. "Not like I'm going to change it, though, so what can you do?" 

"Get out of here so the crazy witches don't find a way to rip the magic sword back out of your soul and invade Avalon?" Cassandra suggested, rubbing his chest again. 

His smile got a little more real at that, and he nodded. "Yeah. Let's do that." 

Not that he had any idea how.

*

"Jake," Cassandra called, sounding like she was miles away. "Please don't pass out again."

What? 

Jake opened his eyes. He was on his side again, lying across Cassandra's lap. The sound of barking seemed to follow him up out of — not quite a dream, but wherever his mind hand wandered off to in the quiet. He forced himself to sit up, swallowing against a resurgence of nausea, and brought his hand up to his head. 

He caught sight of the new tattoo stretching up the back of his hand and jerked away, only to end up swaying back against the pillar. As Cassandra did her best to help hold him up with just one arm, something growled at him indignantly.

Either he'd started hallucinating, or he was hearing Cal in his head. He wrapped both his arms over his chest, left over right as though he could hold Cal down, and tried not to panic. 

"Jake?" Cassandra said. "Hey. What is it?" 

Jake shook his head, leaning away from her. A dog-brained magic sword apparently had opinions on how he living his life, and was letting him know by yelling at him in his head. The same magic sword that was locked away somewhere in his soul because an ancient witch had tried to kill him. An ancient witch that fed on chaos and loss, who was probably getting an extra magic high off him right now without even being in the room, because he was half-possessed by a goddamn magic sword. 

No big deal at all. 

"Jake." Cassandra poked him in the ribs. Jake flashed her a smile. Or, you know, probably a grimace. 

"Nothing," he said. "Just — thinking." 

"I know what it feels like, you know," Cassandra said, a hint of anger in her tone. "Having a magic artifact suddenly get lodged inside of me? Even having evil magical beings wanting to rip it back out. You can _talk_ to me." 

Cal barked encouragingly in his head, and Jake let out a sharp laugh. "No I can't." His throat tried to lock down on even that much, and he had to look away from Cassandra's offended expression. "I'm barely holding together here, Cassie, and we don't have time for me to fall apart." 

"You just tried to pass out again, and I'm chained to a pillar." Cassandra sighed. "Whether we have time for it or not, there's nothing else for us to _do_." 

Jake planted his feet on the floor and pressed himself back against the pillar, using it as a prop to slowly force himself to stand. The room went dim — dimmer — and wobbled in and out of focus, but at least he was upright. Cassandra and Cal both voiced their objections, and Jake had to hang onto the back of his neck to keep his head from floating away, but they weren't the boss of him. He was untied in what was clearly the central room of a medieval castle, being held captive by people who wanted him dead. "I'm going to check this place out," he said, giving Cassandra a cheeky smile as he pushed off the pillar and started walking. "You stay here and keep a lookout." 

Really, it was amazing what you could accomplish when you were deathly afraid of dealing with your actual feelings. 

Cassandra sputtered, jumping to her feet, but her chains didn't give her enough slack to do more than lean furiously away from the pillar. "Jacob Stone, you get back here _right now!_ "

Jake listed hard, swaying and swerving right over to — and nearly into — the wall, only avoiding smacking head-first into it because of Cal's sharp warning. He muttered a quick thank you and leaned against it, using it as a support as he navigated around the room. Cassandra finished her sputter with an angry huff and sat back down, occasionally calling him nasty names when he got a little extra-wobbly, but Jake didn't care. He was _doing something_. Enough something to keep himself conscious and focussed, so he didn't have to think too hard about the magic sword or the evil witches or the fact that he and Cassandra ending up dead was probably the best case scenario they could look forward to, with all of this. 

Cassandra could deal her way all she liked. He was going to deal by getting something done. 

There wasn't really a lot to do, but he took his dear sweet time doing it. 

The room was enormous, easily half the length of a football field and nearly as wide. The dimness was deliberate, he saw. There were things along the upper walls at either end that he was pretty sure were windows, but they were covered with heavy brocade. More than half the sockets for torches were empty. With the drapes open and the torches lit, the place might be downright airy. The ceiling was certainly high enough, judging by the vaulting and the echoes. The central open area was lined on either side by galleries, held up by the stone pillars. There was an enormous set of double doors on one end, where Morgan and Nimue had come and gone, and a dais at the other holding a single, ornate throne, made of dark, carved wood. Two smaller doors led off to either side of the dais, likely to servants' passages. The one to the throne's left was unlocked. 

With all this information, he should have been able to tell what castle they were in, and where the passage on the other side of the unlocked door led. He knew the layout and interior of every medieval castle still standing, and most of the replicas that had been built in the modern era. This didn't match any of them. The construction was all wrong, too. There were no seams in the walls, pillars, or floor. It all looked like it had been hewn from a single stone slab. A magic castle, then, and probably in a magic dimension, wherever the hell Morgan had run off to after her little stunt at the STEM fair a few years ago. 

Even if he and Cassandra managed to make it out of the castle, there'd be nowhere for them to go. 

He reported his findings back to Cassandra, sliding slowly back down the pillar to sit next to her. Cal greeted her with a yip that made him grimace; all the exercise of surveying the room had his head pounding, and having his own personal peanut gallery in his head wasn't helping. 

"I've been trying to remember some unlocking spells," Cassandra told him in return. "I've read a few of them, but I always figured we'd have Ezekiel to deal with any locks." 

Jake nodded with a sigh. "I hate to admit it, but we're not getting out of here without at least a little bit of magic on our side." 

Cassandra gave him a tight smile. "I'll do my best." 

Jake bumped his shoulder against hers, then leaned his head back against the pillar and closed his eyes. "I know you will." 

They sat quietly like that for a good long while, each lost in their own thoughts. Jake concentrated on the cool feel of the pillar against his back, waiting for his pulse to return to something resembling normal. He thought he was finally starting to get there when Cassandra spoke up. 

"Why didn't you leave?" 

He frowned. "When?" 

"When you were checking out the room. You said the door was unlocked." 

"You're magically chained to a pillar. I'm not going to leave you here." 

"You should." Cassandra stared down at her shoes. "We can't let them get Cal, and you're the only thing stopping them. It's more important that you escape than me." 

"Hey." Jake squeezed her knee, Cal adding his own yip of support, not that Cassandra could hear him. "I'm _not_ leaving you here with them. Librarians stick together, right?" 

"That's really sweet." She gave him a quick smile, covering his hand with her own, then whacked him in the chest. "And stupid. You might at least find something to get these things off me, out there. In here all we can do is wait." 

"Weren't you just telling me not to get up?" 

"Because I thought you'd fall over and crack your head open. But you didn't, so now I'm telling you to go." 

"So . . . the important thing here is that I do what you tell me to do." 

Cassandra shot him a sharp look. He flashed her that cheeky smile again, and watched a little of the tension drain out of her shoulders. 

"Well yeah. Obviously." 

"Alright, then." Jake started pushing himself back to his feet. It was a lot easier this time; the room barely even spun. "But if I get caught, I'm blaming you." 

"So what else is new?" 

Jake opened his mouth to retort, then just shook his head and headed for the unlocked door. 

It was a thick, heavy thing, and it took a lot of effort to get it open, but there was no guard on the other side. Cal whimpered, and Jake thought reassurance at him, even as he silently agreed. Morgan leaving him free to roam about was not a good sign. She didn't seem like the sort who would overlook an exit just because it was meant for servants. The passageway through the door was cool and breezy and much more brightly lit than the great hall was; sun came through arrow slits in the wall on his right, striping the floor in bright shafts. He glanced out through them, but couldn't make out much, just a stretch of pale, slightly purple sky. Definitely some sort of alternate dimension, making it a lot harder for the others to launch a rescue effort. 

Assuming they weren't all already dead. 

Jake crept along carefully, avoiding stopping in any of the bands of light, and kept an ear out for any approaching footsteps, but he reached the end of the passage and a short flight of stairs unmolested. At the top of the stairs was another unlocked door, far lighter than the one on the great hall, and it opened onto another long room, smaller than the last one, probably a solar intended for private functions. It was lined on either side with portraits and tapestries and suits of armor done in varying styles. He paused to admire one of the portraits. _Merlin_ , he thought, judging by the robes and hat, done in the style of the old Dutch masters. His long, pale beard was a fascinating blend of pastel blues, teals, and pinks. 

There came a long, low creak. Cal growled. When Jake looked up, one of the suits of armor was looking at him. 

"Hey," he said, trying to play it cool, even as he backed up a few steps. "Is this a van Leyden?"

The armor lowered its halberd, its spike aimed at Jake's chest, and stepped off its pedestal with a resounding _clank_. 

Jake ran. 

He'd have headed back to the great hall and Cassandra, but the armor was in the way. Instead he bolted down the solar, heading for what he hoped was another unlocked door at the other end. Behind him, more armor crashed into pursuit. The clamor hurt Jake's ears, and Cal's furious barking didn't help. He knew any chance that Morgan and Nimue didn't know he was loose was completely lost. 

He turned right when he got through the door, and entered a passage identical to the one outside the great hall. He hooked a sharp left through another unlocked door, and found another yet another passage. Left, passage. Right, passage. He lost track of the doors and turns, but the armor remained always just a few steps behind him. His chest hurt, and he was rapidly running out of wind. He let Cal take the lead, veering off through doors whenever the sword barked in his head. They should have gone in a complete circle by now, or at least found anything other than these endless, sunlit passageways, and he wondered if getting him lost in here had been Morgan's plan all along. 

Nimue stepped out of a doorway just ahead of him, grinning, and Jake reversed so abruptly he stumbled onto all fours. 

The air went electric, like lightning preparing to strike. Cal howled. Jake ran. 

The armor blocked the passage behind him, but this time he managed to swerve, dodging boots and axe blows before rebounding off the wall and barrelling back towards Nimue. The armor stank of rotting meat; he wondered why he hadn't noticed it before. The air was thick with it. He could practically taste it on his tongue as he panted. 

Nimue had gotten taller, somehow. She laughed delightedly as he came at her, arms thrown wide. He growled low in his throat, baring his teeth, and lunged — 

He was brought up short with a jerk by something closing around his neck. He fell to the floor, yelping, and when he tried to get back up, he couldn't get his feet under him properly. All he could do was scrabble uselessly against the floor. 

There was a howl. Not in his head this time, but right there in the passageway. He stared at his feet in confusion, trying to wrap his head around what had happened. 

For one thing, those feet were supposed to be hands. 

When he'd fallen to all fours, he realized with a start, he'd never gotten back up. His hands were paws. His skin was covered in fluffy white fur marked with gray and black, including what looked like a sword along his right front leg. He twisted his head around and caught sight of a long, curled tail lashing angrily behind him. 

Nimue had turned him into a dog. 

He growled at her again when she tried to approach, and snapped his teeth. His deliciously _sharp_ teeth, which he just longed to use to rip out her throat. He made it to his feet — all four of them — and let instinct drive as he coiled himself to pounce. 

And was brought up short again by the thing on his neck. 

A collar. Attached to a leash. 

"Down, Stone," Morgan said. The collar tightened, sending painful barbs into his neck. He growled and turned, following the line of the shiny metal chain from his neck back to her hand. He dropped his head and snarled, but she just grinned and gave the leash another hard yank. " _Down._ " 

He yowled when the collar bit him again. _Choke collar_ , came a thought from the back of his head. The more she pulled, the harder it would bite. 

He lowered himself slowly to the floor, never taking his eyes off Morgan. The pleased look on her face made his hackles rise, but if he didn't at least pretend to obey, he'd never get anywhere in helping. . . .

He was supposed to be helping. . . ? 

Morgan wrapped the chain around her hand as she approached, and he dropped his head warily, waiting for another bite. Instead she reached out, holding her knuckles by his nose and filling his nostrils with her sweet, spicy scent. 

"Good boy," she said, and the words filled him with a strange, warm feeling. Someone in the back of his head cried out a warning, though he didn't understand why. He submitted warily when Morgan stroked him between his ears. "Good Stone." 

The great hall wasn't far away at all. Morgan kept Stone's leash short as she led the way back there, telling him to "heel" and yanking him back into place by her side every time he lagged behind. 

Stone was confused, his head a pile of contradictory signals. He wanted to stay close to Morgan so she couldn't bite his neck again, and he wanted to please her and hear her call him a "good boy", but he knew she was the enemy. She'd _hurt_ him, and hurt — the other one. The one in the great hall. She'd wanted — something — that he could never, ever let her have, and she wasn't letting him investigate _any_ of the hundreds of strange new smells he picked up as they walked, even though he knew he'd never smelled any of them before. 

Every now and then he stumbled, his paws sliding on the too-smooth floor, or his legs just not going quite the way they were supposed to. There was something strange about his body, too, he remembered, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out what. 

And in the back of his head, someone kept screaming. 

Morgan paused outside the doors to the throne room, and when Stone looked up she was staring intently back at him. 

"So it seems the only way past your soul magic is with your trust," she said. Stone cocked his head at her, then shrank back when she reached towards his face. All she did was cup his muzzle, though, and smooth back his ears with the hand holding the leash. "We're going to work on that. But for now, know this: attack me or Nimue even once more, and I'll kill your friend." 

Stone swallowed, holding stock still in her grip. He didn't understand all of that — he knew the _words_ , but they weren't connecting the way he thought they were supposed to — but he got the gist clear enough. He was to be on his best behavior. He whined and sank slowly to his belly to show her he knew she was in charge. Morgan's smile was all teeth as she let go of his head and opened the door. 

Something in the air in the great hall smelled _amazing_. There was the smell of Morgan, of course, and dueling scents of blood and magic, but also something floral and warm and achingly familiar under all the pain and stress. Morgan led Stone, still held tight at heel, over to one of the pillars midway down the room. As they approached, she gave him a little bit of lead, and with a quick glance to see if she was going to take it back, Stone trotted on ahead, heading for the source of the flowery fear smell, the woman sitting at the base of the pillar. 

_Cassandra_. 

That was her name. Stone could have kicked himself for forgetting it. He opened his mouth, letting his tongue loll out as he hurried towards her. She shrank back at first, and he paused a few feet away, giving her a soft "woof?" Her gaze flicked from his mouth to his legs and then to his eyes, and she gasped. 

"J-Jake?" 

Stone cocked his ears at the sound, realizing only after a quick mental rummage that it applied to him. He gave her another little bark and came forward, sniffing at her hair and licking any skin she let him near. "Oh my god." She hesitantly touched the ruff of fur above his collar. "Jake, what did they do to you?" 

"Made him nicer," Nimue said, appearing so suddenly next to them that both Stone and Cassandra startled. "And much prettier too, don't you think?" 

Stone bit back the urge the growl, remembering Morgan's warning. A few sharp tugs on his leash brought him slinking back to Morgan's side, tail held low. He glanced back and saw Cassandra watching him, an expression of open horror on her face. 

"You were right about our Stone and his soul magic, Cassandra," Morgan said. "You have a lot of potential as a magician. If you like, we could train you." 

Cassandra lifted her chin defiantly. "I'll tell you the same thing I told the Lake: I'm a Librarian. I won't leave the Library _or_ my team for anything." 

"That's too bad." Morgan had the leash shortened up tight again, so Stone had to stand pressed to her leg if he didn't want to choke. She pulled something from her pocket and held it in front of his face. It smelled like dirt and meat and blood and Stone didn't think he'd ever wanted to eat anything more in his entire life. Morgan gave it to him to lap up, and he even let her pet him without a single grumble in return. "Stone here is in training already." 

Tears filled Cassandra's eyes. Stone blinked at her as Morgan rubbed his ears. 

"I could change you instead if you like," Nimue offered. "You could be a bird, maybe. Or a squirrel." 

Cassandra shook her head miserably. Stone wanted to lick the tears off her face, but Morgan held the leash too short. 

"Let us know if you change your mind," she said cheerfully, and led Stone away down the hall to the dais, where she secured the end of his leash to the throne. She pulled another of those tasty treats from her pocket and held it up. 

"Sit," she ordered. Stone looked between the treat and the pillar where Cassandra still huddled, staring at him. Morgan grabbed him by the muzzle again and pulled his head to face her, the treat just out of reach in her other hand. " _Sit._ " 

Stone sat. 

Morgan gave him the treat and ruffled his ears. "Good _boy_."


	4. Chapter 4

Morgan always kept Stone close by her side. Mostly of her time was spent in the great hall, where she held court and addressed the grievances of whomever won the right of her audience. Though they all wore human form, Stone could tell by their scents they were creatures of magic. Morgan named them sometimes: ogre, goblin, fae. Stone learned to identify them all, and quickly picked up on even tiny changes in their scents so he could growl a warning when they tried to deceive her. Morgan rewarded him well for that trick. She wasn't an affectionate master, but she knew when to treat and when to punish, and soon enough, Stone forgot that there was another world outside Morgan's castle. He worried, sometimes, about the other woman, his friend, the one Morgan still threatened to kill sometimes when he had trouble behaving, but he couldn't remember her names. Not hers, and not the one she called him. 

Late at night, when he slept on the rug outside Morgan's private chambers, the voice in the back of his head spoke up again, and he dreamed of old smells nearly forgotten: old books and static electricity, gun oil and sweet flowers, and something else, something ancient he could never quite identify that simply smelled like _home_. Some nights he woke up whimpering, and paced up and down in tiny circles, searching for something he couldn't identify. 

Only at night, though. By day, everything made perfect sense. He had one job: to stick close to Morgan and keep her safe. When he did well, he got food and exercise and gentle hands smoothing his coat. When he did poorly, he was smacked and tied down, and given only water until he showed Morgan he was sorry. So he paid attention. He was careful, and he was very, very good. 

Until the frost giants arrived. 

Morgan was letting him sit next to her throne that day without tying him to it. It'd been days since he'd last messed up, and he must have gotten a little overconfident because of it. When he caught that whiff of arctic cold, he was on his feet and snarling before he even had time to think. The male giant laughed and congratulated Morgan on her choice of pets. The female giant gave Stone the stink-eye and growled back. 

"Down, boy," Morgan instructed, almost bored, and Stone obeyed, sinking back down on his haunches, even as his lips remained curled, and his eyes fixed on the two giants. 

He didn't pay much attention to the conversations in the great hall anymore. They were never directed at him, and he could tell more about people's intentions by watching and by smelling than by listening. The language of the humans — or human-shaped people — had gotten fuzzy around the edges anyway, and when there were so many people around, it was more trouble to follow than it was worth. He knew the important words from Morgan; that was all he really needed. 

He listened to the frost giants, though. And when he heard the name "Finklestein", he reacted. 

He was off the dias with his teeth at the male giant's neck before anyone else could react. He could hear Morgan shouting at him, but he didn't care. She didn't know about "Finklestein", she hadn't been there. It'd been the other one, the one Nimue kept somewhere else, the woman who smelled like flowers. "Finklestein" meant someone wanted to hurt that woman, and that was _not allowed_. 

The male giant was still laughing when Stone tasted his blood in his mouth. He laughed while the giantess grabbed the scruff of Stone's neck, and laughed harder when she flung Stone hard into one of the pillars. He guffawed when Stone yelped and something in him went _crack_ , and didn't stop until the fury of Morgan was upon him. 

Stone lay on his side and watched as Morgan tore the giants limb from limb, and though it hurt to breathe and all he could smell was his own blood bubbling in his nose, he found himself in awe of her. 

He'd thought that he was here to protect her, but here she was, protecting _him_. 

He felt something strange in his chest — something other than his ribs moving in the wrong direction. After a few moments, he decided it must be love. 

He whimpered when she came over to him at last, nuzzling into her hand and licking the giants' blood from it to show her that he cared. Morgan looked at her hand and smiled her broad, toothy smile. 

"That was very bad, Stone," she said, taking his muzzle in her hands the way she always did when she had something very important to tell him. "You're not allowed to get hurt yet." She checked him over, paying extra attention to his right front leg, though it was his chest that hurt. "Take him to Nimue," she ordered, and Stone tried not to yelp again when someone picked him up. He stretched his head far enough to lick Morgan's cheek in apology. She rubbed his ears. 

"You're a good boy," she said, with all the weight of one of her spells. It wasn't quite an order, but it wasn't not one, either. "Be a good boy, Stone." 

Stone watched her as long as he could, until the servant carrying him rounded a corner and she was out of sight.

*

Nimue's chambers were at the base of the castle. Stone had never been there before, but they smelled, through the tang of blood, of dirt and damp and minerals. The servant laid him out on a wooden table, and Stone heard someone gasp in dismay.

It was the woman, the one who smelled like flowers. He wagged his tail as best he could, even as he struggled to breathe. She was wearing a dark dress that didn't suit her at all; he whined at her to let her know. 

"Oh Jacob," she said, stroking his cheek and wiping blood from his nose. "What has she done to you now?" 

He wondered what she meant. 

"Can you understand me?" she asked. Stone wagged his tail. "Do you know who I am, or do you just like my tone of voice?" Stone paused his wag, not sure what she wanted from him. "Do you know who _you_ are?" 

Stone whined softly. His chest hurt. 

"Oh god. Right. Sorry." She picked up an evil-smelling old book and flipped the pages. She held her hand a few inches from Stone's ribs and spoke. It was the same language they used upstairs, and it made him want to whine at her again. The room flashed with light, and Stone could finally breathe properly. 

He started to get up, anxious to get back to Morgan, but subsided with a yelp when his back seized up. 

"Sorry," the flower woman said again. "No instant fixes. I'm still learning. Besides, this way I actually get to spend time with you." 

Stone barked. The flower woman clapped her hand over his muzzle and hissed. 

"I know, okay?! But magic's the only thing that'll get us out of here! Besides, it was apprentice to Nimue or be a parakeet." 

Stone narrowed his eyes at her, grumbling into her hands. 

"Yeah, well, you can judge me later when you have thumbs again." 

The flower woman didn't make a whole lot of sense, but Stone liked hearing her talk anyway. He pulled his muzzle out of her hands and licked her nose. She stuck her face into the thick fur around his neck, careful not to pull on his collar, and made a sound that was either laughing or crying. He had no idea which.

*

The flower woman kept him in Nimue's quarters for four days before he got too restless for her to keep contained. Nimue drifted in and out according to her own whims, but always gave Stone a wide berth.

"I don't like him anymore," she said. "He only smells of dog." 

The flower woman muttered something about whose fault that was, and Stone wondered what else he was meant to smell like. 

The first day, he could barely move. The flower woman laid him down on a straw pallet on the floor, then curled up behind him while he slept. Whenever he woke from his strange dreams she was there, petting him in long, smooth strokes and whispering assurances. 

"This is so weird," she told him once, when he lifted one of his legs to let her rub his belly. "You never in a million years would've let me do this, before." 

Stone wasn't sure when "before" was, but he picked up his head and nuzzled into her hair in response. Morgan never just pet him like this, not without him doing something for her first, even even then, never for so long. He'd had no idea how much he'd wished that she would. Even with the dull pain still radiating from his back, he felt himself relax under the flower woman's hands, going all but boneless as he drifted lazily back to sleep. 

The next day he still felt stiff, but he was well enough to get up and stretch his legs a little, following the flower woman around the room as she worked. She never left the chambers, and few people ever seemed to come to visit, but she kept busy, making use of Nimue's books and jars of spell ingredients to prep potions for her master. She kept shooting him guilty looks when she did, like she was doing something wrong, but Stone just cocked his head at her in return, and offered her the occasional encouraging bark. She was like him, he realized. Or as much like him as someone on two legs could be. She answered to a master, and tried to do the best she could. There was never any shame in that. 

"So weird," she said again. Stone sat at her feet and panted, and wondered when they were going to have dinner. 

Once the sun had gone down, she led the way through a small door at the back of the main room. Stone followed cautiously. The door smelled of _outside_. Morgan never let him go outside. 

"Come on, Stone," the flower woman said, patting her hip and giving a little whistle. "It's just a garden. You've got to be sick of being cooped up by now." 

Stone hadn't been, but he thought he might be now. It was like being petted, something bright and wonderful he hadn't known he was missing. The garden had four walls, just like all the rooms of the castle, but instead of a ceiling there was a sky. The air was in constant motion, and it seemed like every step Stone took brought new and interesting smells to his nose. He glanced up at the flower woman one last time to make sure she hadn't changed her mind — Morgan changed her mind all the time, so he always had to be ready — then launched himself across the space, kicking up clods of dirt and leaving sharp smelling plants bent and broken in his wake. 

"Crap," the flower woman said. "Watch out for the mandrake!" 

Stone skidded to a stop by the far wall, ears flat against his head, and looked back over his path of destruction. Which one was mandrake? She'd said it was okay. Had she lied to him? Was this a trick? 

He dropped to his haunches, pressing one leg over his nose to show he was sorry. Maybe if he didn't move and he didn't do anything else wrong, she'd still let him eat dinner. He didn't dare hope to get petted again, but maybe he could avoid total punishment. 

Except he was already being punished, wasn't he. For acting out in the great hall against the giants. Morgan hadn't come to get him yet, because he was a bad dog. 

"Stone?" The flower woman came over to him, one hand stretched out like she was afraid he might bite. She walked between the plants, he realized, not on top of them like he had. "Hey, it's okay. You just have to be more careful, alright? There's some really powerful magic on you right now, and I don't know how it'll react if it mixes with anything wild out here. If something happens to you — I won't even have time to feel bad. Morgan will kill me first." 

Stone sat up and howled his denial. He remembered that part. If he ever did anything really bad, unforgivable, the flower woman was dead. He couldn't let that happen. 

"Holy crap _shut up!_ " she hissed, dropping to her knees and wrapping both of her hands around his muzzle. "We're not supposed to be out here, okay? You need to keep _quiet!_ " 

Stone held as still as he could, staring up at her wide-eyed, but he couldn't suppress a nervous tremor. He'd done it again. He wasn't even trying to do anything, and he still screwed it all up. 

The flower woman pulled him into hug, rubbing a soothing hand over his head and down his back. "It's alright, Stone. I know —" Her voice broke, and she had to swallow before she could continue. "I know this is all really confusing for you. I wish I could at least find a spell that would let you _think_ again. Then you could see what Morgan is doing. And it wouldn't be all on me to get us out of here." 

Stone didn't know what she meant. He could think fine, it was how he learned what made him a good boy. But he could tell she was upset, and she petted him and took him outside, so he nosed at her until she lifted her head, and then he licked the tears off her face. 

"Alright, alright. Gross." She gave a little laugh and pulled away, wiping her cheek where his tongue had just been. "That's just too weird. I never even wanted a dog, growing up. I bet you had dozens." She rubbed his ears and stood. "I need to gather some herbs. Go on and explore. Just do it carefully, okay? And be _quiet_." 

Stone wagged his tail to let her know he understood, then waited for her to get up and start working before he went to investigate the rest of the garden, walking between the plants this time. 

The flower woman was always so sad. Something in him insisted that that wasn't right, that she should be bright and bubbly and full of enthusiasm, but he didn't know why. 

Maybe it was the same part that knew they were supposed to be friends. The part that still clamored for attention sometimes, even as it got quieter and quieter. 

He wondered what would happen when it stopped making any noise at all. The thought of it made him shiver, even though the night was warm. Then a moth took off from a nearby plant, and he forgot all about what he'd been thinking about as he went to go see if he could eat it.

*

By the morning of the fourth day, even fear of punishment couldn't keep Stone contained. He felt perfectly fine again, and he found it hard to sit still and watch without Morgan there to order him to be calm. All the flower woman's chores were put on hold that day in favor of cleaning up after him as he tried to stick his nose, tongue, or both into or on everything in the chambers. Upstairs with Morgan he got regular walks between petitioners, even if it was only through the halls of the castle to the little room where he did his business. He hadn't even gotten one of Morgan's treats now in days, and the flower woman only let him out into the garden after dark.

He knocked over an old stoneware jar on his tenth circuit of the room that morning, and got a noseful of buzzing powder that made him see stars. The flower woman scolded him so loudly the guards came in to check, but Stone hardly noticed. The powder seemed to go directly from his nose to his brain, and for one miraculous, terrible instant, he _remembered_. 

This wasn't who he was. This wasn't where he lived. This body wasn't his body and the little voice in the back of his head — that was _him_. Jacob Stone, son of Isaac Stone. Oil man and cowboy, historian and linguist. Five of the world's foremost art historians. _Librarian_. More than that, though, he remembered things that he'd never known before. A former Guardian gone rogue. A nightmare trial turning him against the others. Jenkins' life fading before his eyes. Him and Ezekiel and Cassandra — 

Cassandra was in front of him, a look of exasperation on her face. "Dammit, Stone." He tried to tell her that he was back, that the powder had done something and now he could _think_ , but it only came out as a garbled whine, the same sounds Cal was making in the back of his head. Cal, a sword with the mind of a dog, who was locked into Jake's soul. Nimue's spell must have been causing a bleed or something, because Jake had spent the last few weeks convinced he really was and had always been a _dog_ — 

Cassandra wiped at his nose with a rag, and he sneezed.

And it was gone. 

"Tell Morgan I'll send him up in a little while," the flower woman was saying to the guards in the doorway. "Stone here needs a bath." 

Stone wagged his tail once and licked her face. The flower woman sighed, still wiping powder from his fur. 

"So much for your 190 IQ."


	5. Chapter 5

Life returned to normal. Stone's master kept his leash chained to her throne for a while to help him remember to behave, but she made sure to tell him he was a good boy, and she gave him treats when he growled and postured on command, so Stone was happy. She started training him to hunt, even. As she put it, if he was going to be bone-headed enough to attack a frost giant, he might as well put his aggression to good use. He still wasn't allowed outside, but the rats in the castle were large and vicious, and they smelled of old books and gun oil and static electricity. His master gave him extra treats whenever he killed one and brought it back to her. 

In his dreams, the rats were even bigger, and they travelled in threes, and his master hugged him and petted him and showered him with praise when he brought them down. 

The only time the voice in his head spoke up now was when he saw the flower woman. She was let out more now, too, and he took to ducking his head and hurrying past when he smelled her coming down the passageways. He hadn't forgotten how nice she'd been to him, but his master didn't like them spending time together. And anyway, that voice had started to _itch_. 

Then the flower woman joined the servants in the great hall one night, and after Stone spent three meetings in a row studiously not looking in her direction, his master ended the night's proceedings and took Stone with her back to her chambers. 

Stone had never been allowed inside them before. His master preferred him to sleep in the hall outside her door. He stuck obediently at heel even without his leash, but he couldn't stop his tail wagging in excitement. She brought him to the center of the room where a large circle made of squiggles was marked onto the floor, and she told him to sit. 

Stone sat, silent and alert, and waited for her next order. 

"I've been very patient with you, Stone," she said, kneeling down in front of him. "But I think I've finally broken you of all your old allegiances. It's time for you to give me the sword." 

Stone blinked at her, and hesitantly wagged his tail. He had no idea what she wanted. 

"The sword, Stone! Excalibur!" 

Stone's ears pricked up at that name, and he stood, his tail wagging even harder, but she only shouted at him. He shrank back down, trying to make himself as small as possible. He couldn't think of what he could have done wrong. 

"You really are nothing more than an idiot creature, now, aren't you," his master sneered. "I have fed you, trained you, even given you _entertainment_. What more could you possibly need to _trust me?!_ "

Stone slowly, carefully lifted his head, leaning forward to lick the back of her hand. 

She smacked him across the face. 

The force of it flung him onto his side, and he scrambled back to his feet before he could disappoint her again. He couldn't remember anymore exactly what the punishment would be if she gave up on him, but he knew it was extremely bad, to be avoided at all costs. He sat back up in the center of the circle, eyes downcast, and waited for her next order. 

It didn't come in the usual form. His master's eyes lit up from within as she spoke in slithering, crawling words that made all of Stone's fur stand on end. He felt something bubble and jerk under his skin, and couldn't hold back ragged whimper. An answering glow to that in her eyes appeared on his chest as something was torn free from inside him. He panted and whined and looked up to his master for help, but she only watched, ecstatic, as the hilt of a sword appeared just under his throat. 

She grabbed onto it, and Stone _screamed_.

It was a sound better suited to another creature, an eagle, maybe, or a banshee, and it ripped its way out of Stone's throat like it had been unleashed from Hell itself. It flung Morgan backwards, breaking the spell with a burst of magic that smelled of burned tea leaves. The hilt vanished and Stone crumpled to the floor, eyes rolling in agony and terror. 

He'd failed. For the life of him, he couldn't tell which was worse, angering his master, or letting her lay her hands on whatever it was that was inside him. 

Guards poured into the room as Morgan got to her feet, angrily shoving her hair from her face. "Lock him up in the courtyard and summon Nimue," she ordered. Stone mustered up the energy to snarl when one of the guards grabbed him by the collar, but he couldn't help but be dragged along anyway. "By daybreak, I want that creature to be nothing more than a rock with a sword in it!"

*

By the time the guards got him outside, all of Stone's fear and fury had boiled over, and his training had gone right out the window. He twisted and snarled and snapped at everything that came near his face, and only the guards' armor kept him from tearing off their hands and going for their throats. He howled his anger into the dark night sky, blind even to the wild scents of the outdoors as they locked chains to his collar and secured the ends to either side of a heavy pedestal. Then they were done, and Stone was trapped, and the only thing he could take his anger out on was himself.

His neck was sticky with blood from where his collar bit into his skin by the time he finally calmed. For weeks he'd been so good, he'd forgotten his collar could bite. Now it dug in and tore at him even when he held still. He howled again, a long, mournful sound, drained of righteous fury. He eased himself down onto the pedestal to wait for the sun to rise. 

He was finished. 

There would be no coming back from this one. This wasn't like being locked into a closet or chained to a chair. His master wasn't going to come out and see if he was ready to apologize. Which was good, because he didn't think he wanted to apologize for this one at all. He didn't know what it was, exactly, that'd she'd tried to take from him, but he knew with every fiber of his being that it wasn't _hers_. 

The night was long and quiet and cold. Stone lay his head on his feet, exhausted, but unable to sleep. Something was coming, something even bigger than whatever his master had planned for him. He need to be prepared. 

Sometime after the moon had set, there came a distant roar, like thunder, though the sky was clear. Stone lifted his head and smelled smoke, heard the clang of far-off alarm bells, but the courtyard itself remained almost eerily still and quiet. The sky had grown lighter along the horizon over one wall, and Stone knew his time was almost up. 

But it wasn't his master or any of her guards who came for him. It was the flower woman, pale and glowing in a dark, hooded robe, slipping from shadow to shadow. Stone sat up, on full alert, and gave her a warning growl. 

"Shhh," she chided softly. "Morgan's distracted by the attack, but I can't promise she'll stay that way." She held out her hand in front of Stone's nose, apparently completely unconcerned by his bared fangs. "I still don't know how to turn you back. I'm sorry. But we're out of time. I heard Morgan's orders to Nimue. As soon as they stop the attack, they're going to turn you to stone!" 

Stone's ears pricked up, and he yipped. 

"Not that kind of stone!" 

The flower woman fumbled at the chains holding Stone down, muttering to herself all the while. Something about an Ezekiel, and how great it was that dogs didn't have opposable thumbs. She didn't really sound like she thought it was that great, though. The chains fell away, and Stone stepped carefully down to the ground, giving the flower woman a curious look. 

She hugged him. He yelped when his collar rubbed into his raw neck, and she pulled back and apologized. 

"Stay here and keep watch," she ordered, two commands that Stone understood perfectly. "I'll go make sure the coast is clear." 

Stone skirted past the pedestal and the chains that still hung from it, and started patrolling the courtyard. The distant sounds of fighting grew steadily louder, and the smoke smell dominated all the others in his nose, even the smell of his own blood, keeping him on a razor's edge. He wanted something to attack. A rat or a guard or even his master, he didn't much care what. His teeth were tingling. There was a burst of something that smelled like hot metal along the wall to his left, and one of the doors along that wall lit up from behind. Stone planted himself firmly in front of it, his breath rolling out in one long, continuous growl. 

A man and a woman stumbled through, smelling like old books and gun oil. 

"A castle!" The man ( _old books_ ) shouted. "Of _course_ Morgan le Fay has a whole castle. Little bit of overcompensating, wouldn't you say, Eve?" 

The woman, Eve ( _gun oil_ ), kept her eyes fixed on Stone. Clearly she was the smart one of the two. 

"Honestly, Flynn, I'm a little more concerned by the fact that Morgan le Fay has a _wolf_." 

Flynn scoffed. "That's not a wolf." 

"It looks like a wolf." 

"Nonsense! Wolves are much larger than that, with smaller heads, proportionally. You can see the markers of domestication all over this animal." 

Stone growled louder. Eve cocked her gun. 

"It sure sounds like a wolf, Flynn!" 

"Please, Eve. this is a husky mix at _best_." Flynn stepped forward. Stone pounced. "Okay, fine it's a wolf! Shoot the wolf! Shoot the wolf, Eve!" 

Stone snarled up at Eve, his teeth inches from Flynn's thoat. They both smelled like rats. Really big, juicy rats. He got rewarded when he killed rats. 

Eve raised her gun. 

"Shoot it, Eve! It wants to eat me!" 

" _Don't shoot him!_ " 

Stone and Eve both swung their heads up at the same time. The flower woman came barrelling into the courtyard, her arms up.

"Cassandra!" 

" _Cassandra why can't she shoot the killer wolf!_ " 

Stone snarled at Flynn again, sick of the man's shouting. Flynn fell silent, hands held protectively over his face. 

"Stone!" Cassandra shouted. " _Down!_ " 

She wasn't Stone's master, but he knew better than to ignore that tone of voice. He stepped off of Flynn, leaving his teeth bared at the man to keep him from getting any ideas. 

"That's _Stone?_ " Eve asked. Stone turned his snarl on her, shifting to keep himself between Cassandra and that gun. 

"Nimue turned him into a dog," Cassandra said, resting a warm hand between Stone's ears. 

"He was going for my throat." Flynn sat up, shrieking to unperturbed in a matter of seconds. Stone barked sharply at him to let him know to keep his distance. "He looks like he still wants to, too." 

"Easy." Cassandra stroked Stone's head in a slow, steady rhythm as Eve lowered her weapon. Stone kept his eye on them, but let his lips relax. "Morgan's been treating him like a pet for more than a month," she said, her voice sad. "He doesn't know who he is." 

Eve tucked her gun away. "I'm sorry, Cassandra. We got here as fast as we could. It hasn't been that long on our end." 

Cassandra shrugged. "It's alright. We've . . . made do." Stone barked, and gave his tail a single wag. 

Eve nodded to him, though she was still looking at Cassandra. "Are you sure that's really him? He doesn't seem all that . . . Stone-like." 

"It's him," Cassandra said. "Look at his eyes. Plus — you can see Cal, there, on his leg." 

Stone's ears pricked up at the familiar name. Flynn leaned close, and Stone snapped at him. Flynn held up a hand, looking Stone dead in the eye. 

"Hey now! That's more than enough murder from you tonight, young man." 

"Sweetie," said Eve. "You're immortal." 

"That doesn't mean it wouldn't hurt." Flynn kept his hand up and stopped trying to get closer, so Stone finally let him look at the markings on his leg. "That looks like Cal, alright." 

"Okay, but how did Cal end up on Stone's leg?" asked Eve. 

"His tattoo," Cassandra explained. "It took Cal's shape after — well. You know." 

"I'm really starting to understand why Stone hates magic." 

Stone was getting a little cross-eyed, trying to follow the conversation. The smell of fire was getting closer. He pawed at Cassandra's leg and whined. 

"Stone's right," she said. "The castle's under attack. We should go." 

Flynn waved a hand dismissively. "That's just Ezekiel. Don't worry about it." Something exploded on the other side of the wall behind him, and all four of them ducked. "Okay, maybe worry a little bit about it." 

"Right," Eve said. "Let's get you two home." She turned back towards the door they'd come through, which was still putting out an eerie glow. "After you." 

Cassandra smiled and started forward, but stopped when Stone wouldn't follow. "Stone, come." She patted her hip and whistled. 

Stone sat down and looked back at the castle. 

"We don't have time for this." Eve grabbed Stone's collar while he was distracted and started pulling. Stone ground his teeth together against the collar's bite and growled furiously. 

"Eve, don't!" Cassandra rushed back over. "You're hurting him!" 

Eve cursed and let go. "Ezekiel's distraction won't last forever, Cassandra! We have to _go_." 

"He doesn't understand that! He's scared!" 

"I don't think he is." Flynn still kept his distance, but he was looking from Stone to the castle thoughtfully. "I think he knows something we don't." 

"He's just a dog right now," Eve said. "He doesn't even know who we are." 

"Have either of you ever owned a dog?" Flynn asked. Eve and Cassandra both shook their heads. "Neither have I. _But._ Cal is my best friend, and that's almost the same thing." He crouched down, leaning carefully into Stone's space. "What is it, boy? Show us what you need." 

Stone stared at him, then flicked a glance over at Cassandra. 

"Right," said Eve. " _Now_ can I carry him through the Back Door?" 

The ramparts above their heads exploded, raining down chunks of stone and rubble, blocking the path to the glowing door completely. 

Flynn shook his head. "Apparently not." 

Stone bolted into the castle, glancing back once to make sure Cassandra followed. The other two stuck close to her, but she'd said they were okay, so he decided to let them live. He wasn't familiar with the world outside, but inside there wasn't an inch of passageway that he hadn't explored. He led them straight to the safest place he knew. 

"Oh," Cassandra said. "Oh, Jake." 

Nimue's quarters. 

He looked up at her for approval. She rubbed his ears and bent down to kiss him on the head before opening the door and following him in. 

"Where are we?" Eve asked. "This looks like a cross between Jenkins' lab and a Renaissance fair." 

"The Apothecary," Cassandra said. "Where I've been living. And studying." She took a deep breath. "Under Nimue." 

Flynn looked up at her sharply. "Cassandra, no." 

"She didn't give me a choice. Or — not much of one. I could either be her apprentice and do . . . other things . . . or end up like Stone." 

"Nimue feeds on magic, Cassandra," Eve said. "Jenkins told us all about her while we were trying to find you two. She's like a kind of magic vampire." 

Cassandra shrugged. "What can I say? Vampires like me." 

Stone grew bored with the conversation and started exploring, sniffing around all the jars and powders again. He'd just caught a sharp, familiar scent that made his head swim when Flynn reached in front of him and plucked one of the jars from the shelf.

"Is this what I think it is?" 

"Just powdered rosemary and myosotis." Cassandra shrugged. "He's gotten into it before." 

"Oh Stone, you clever old dog, you!" Flynn said, reaching down to pat Stone on the head. Stone growled and he quickly pulled his hand back, but otherwise seemed unphased. "I knew you knew something!" He tucked the jar under his arm and began sifting through the other supplies. 

"Flynn?" Eve asked. 

"Rosemary and myosotis!" Flynn said. "Rosemary is said to be good for your memory. And myosotis's common name is. . . ? Anyone?" 

Cassandra clapped her hand over her mouth. "Forget-me-not." 

"Ding ding ding! Mix the two together, and you have a basic component for a memory spell. I just need a bucket of water, some oil of abramelin, and beef tallow for flavor." 

"I've got the water!" Cassandra said, rushing around the table. "Abramelin oil is on the third shelf from the top there. But we don't have any tallow." 

"Well, then, we're going to have to see if three people with no experience with dog care can force one to take its medicine." Flynn gathered the ingredients together and mixed them up, peering intently into the bucket. Above them, the castle shuddered. Dust rained down from the ceiling, and Stone whimpered. 

"Ezekiel's distraction is still going well," Eve said. "Let's hope he doesn't distract the whole castle down on our heads." 

"Done!" Flynn shoved the bucket in front of Stone's face. Stone sniffed it and flinched away. 

"Hey." Cassandra was suddenly right there, her hand gentle on his shoulder. "It's okay, Stone. It's good for you. Drink it." 

Stone whined and tried to back up. 

"Cal!" Eve barked. Stone shot back to attention. "Drink!" 

Stone stuck his nose into the bucket and started lapping away. 

"What?" Cassandra asked. "How did you. . . ?"

"Lucky hunch. He responds the same way to 'Cal' as he does to 'Stone'." 

"Nimue's spell must have somehow blended Cal's personality into Stone's," Flynn mused. "No wonder he's so confused." 

Stone stopped drinking the potion when the room started bend steadily in and out. He staggered and shook his head, trying to shake off the sudden dizziness. This had worked a lot faster before, he realized with a start. Things you inhale reach your brain faster than the things you ingest. What last time had been an instantaneous, fleeting blast of insight now washed over him more like a rising tide. He swung his head from side to side and blinked up at his friends. 

"Is it working?" Baird asked. 

"I can't tell," said Cassandra. "It's definitely doing _something._ " 

"Stone," Flynn said. "What's your opinion on the architecture of the suburban housing boom of the 1950s?" 

Jake huffed a long sigh through his nose and rolled his eyes. How exactly was he meant to answer that when he couldn't speak?

"Yep, that's him," Baird said. Cassandra flung her arms around Jake's neck and hugged him. Jake yelped when the collar dug into his skin again, but otherwise bore it with quiet dignity. 

"Sorry," Cassandra said anyway. "I'd take it off, but it's one of Nimue's tricks with no actual opening. I don't know how to get it off." 

"Bolt cutters?" Baird suggested. Jake nodded at her. 

"Not in here," Cassandra said. "I can at least take care of the cuts for you, though. I've been focussing on restorative magic, and I've gotten really good at healing." Jake eyed her carefully, remembering her warning from the garden about mixing powerful magics. He had way too many spells on him already. One was too many, and there were currently, what? Three? One of which was already eating away at the edges of his memory again. He knew she meant well, but there was no way he could risk another one. He slowly shook his head. 

"Oh." Cassandra's face fell. "Okay." She didn't say it out loud, but Jake could hear it in her voice: she was disappointed that he still didn't trust her. 

_Trust._

Jake barked, grabbing onto Flynn's cuff and pulling him towards the door. "Stone!" Baird shouted. "Stop attacking Flynn!" 

"Not attacking!" Flynn said, letting Jake pull him along. "Leading! What is it, Stone?" 

Jake rolled his eyes again, letting go of Flynn's sleeve and turning to scratch at the door. He was glad Ezekiel wasn't there to ask about Timmy and the well. 

"Right," Flynn said. "Dogs don't talk. Lay on, MacDuff." 

Cassandra opened the door and Jake darted through it, nose in the air as he scented and made sure their path was clear. He had to double them back several times to avoid guards, and one of the passageways was partially collapsed, diverting them into an empty scullery, that smelled even more of smoke than it had outside. It was strong enough that apparently even a human nose could detect it, at least judging by the others' expressions. 

"Just what exactly is Ezekiel doing to distract them?" Cassandra asked, eyeing the ceiling warily as another blast shook the room. 

"You know," Baird said. "I decided it was better not to ask." 

Jake barked, circling back to herd them through the other door. They didn't have time for more discussion. Fortunately, he'd learned all sorts of shortcuts in the maze-like castle hunting rats, and was able to lead them straight from the scullery to the door to Morgan's private chambers. 

Cassandra looked at the door and shook her head. "We can't go after her yet, Stone. We're not ready." She looked at Eve and Flynn. "This is Morgan's lair." 

Jake shook his head, scratching at the door and whining. When they still looked uncertain, he took Flynn's sleeve in his mouth again and tugged, then poked his nose at the markings on his leg. 

"Cal," Flynn said. Jake wagged his tail. "Morgan found a way to get him out?" 

Jake wagged harder and scratched at the door again. Baird tried the door, but found it locked. Flynn set about picking it, while Baird, Cassandra, and Jake kept watch. Jake kept getting distracted, though; the whole hallway smelled like rats. It was making his mouth water. 

He shook himself and curled his lip. The hallway didn't smell like rats, he reminded himself. The rats smelled like Flynn and Baird. Morgan's idea, no doubt, to make sure he'd attack them if they came to rescue him. It had almost worked, too. He had to stay focussed. 

His ear itched, and he sat down hurriedly to give it a good scratch. 

"We're in," Flynn called, and Jake hopped up to hurry in after him. The circle was still there, marked on the floor, not even scratched by Jake's fight earlier with the guards. He ran to the center and sat, looking at Flynn expectantly. 

"Marvelous," Flynn said. "Well done, Stone! . . . How does it work?" 

Jake looked from Flynn to the circle, his ears drooping. He had no idea. 

"It's soul magic," Cassandra reminded them, her voice soft. "That means it's based on trust." 

Right. Jake sighed. And he was just awesome at that. He turned three times in a tight circle, surveying the room as he thought, then lay down, one paw crossed over the other. 

What were they doing here, again? 

The others stared at him. He panted and wagged his tail hopefully. 

"Stone?" Baird asked. Stone closed his mouth again, ears up. That was him! 

"The memory spell's wearing off," Flynn said. "I forgot to account for the forget-me-not's short magical half-life." He knelt down in front of Stone. "It's not strong enough to keep up with Nimue's transformation spell. We should have brought more along with us." 

"Maybe we should get him back to Jenkins," Baird said. "I can call, ask him for a new door. He'll know what to do." 

Cassandra shook her head. "If Stone thought the key to Cal was in here, I believe him. We can't bring him back just for him to get stuck being a human sheath for a magic sword. He'll be a target for the rest of his life." 

"He's a Librarian," Flynn said. "He's already a target." He held his hand out to Stone. "Stone. Shake." Stone blinked at him, tilting his head. Morgan hadn't taught him that one. Flynn sighed and picked up Stone's right paw, holding it in both of his hands. "Shake," he said again. "Good boy." He stared at Stone until he made eye contact, then said in a firm, no-nonsense tone: "Cal. _Come._ " 

It didn't feel anything like Morgan's spell. There was no bubbling up, no feeling of being torn open, no pain at all. One moment he was sitting with his paw in Flynn's hand, and the next all four of his feet were on the floor, and Flynn held the hilt of a shining sword. The rest of the sword was still buried somewhere in Stone's chest, but that was easily fixed with a gentle tug. 

"Cal," Flynn said, standing up and letting go of the hilt. The sword stayed where it was, hanging in the air. "Welcome back, buddy." 

Cal yipped and zipped around Flynn in an excited circle. 

"But," Baird said, looking from Cal to Stone. "Stone's still a dog." 

"He is." Flynn shrugged. "Cal wasn't what changed him in the first place. The question is, is Stone more or less himself now, without Cal's influence?" 

Stone yawned and lay down on the floor. He licked his right leg a few times, unmarked now, save for a scattering of small spots around the top where it met his chest, and let his eyes fall shut. His head was nice and quiet, and he was exhausted. 

"Okay," Cassandra said, from somewhere far away. "Now I vote we get him back to Jenkins." 

"Way ahead of you," Baird said. 

"Stone," Flynn said. Stone opened his eyes to find him right in front of him, Cal hovering anxiously just over his shoulder. "Hey, buddy. Don't go to sleep yet. The adventure's still not over." 

Stone sniffed him and growled tiredly. He smelled like a rat. 

"Cassandra," Flynn said. "Little help? He's going all growly again." 

"Maybe," a voice said from the door. Stone sat up abruptly, instantly awake again and back on alert. "It's because you're not his master." 

She stood in the doorway, a huge rat clutched between her fingers, this one smelling like static electricity. Stone wagged his tail in greeting. 

"Nice try, Librarians," Morgan said. "You almost had me. This dimension isn't well equipped to handle technology." 

The rat wrenched itself out of her grip. "I had you on the ropes and you know it." 

"Ezekiel!" Cassandra said. "Are you okay?" 

"Never better, Cassandra. This one's all talk." 

"Nonsense," Morgan sneered. "I was just saving you as a treat for my dog. He does so love to hunt. Stone!" Stone jumped to his feet. "Sicc 'em!" 

Stone snarled and pounced. The rat cut off mid-disbelieving sputter and shoved himself into the corner. A shot rang out, and the wall above them exploded, showering them with stone chips and dust. 

"Eve, no!" 

"Just a warning shot, Cassandra!" Baird kept the gun trained on Stone, belying her words. "Stone! _Down!_ " 

Stone growled, hackles raised, but he didn't move any closer to his prey. There were a hell of a lot of people in this room, and he was having trouble keeping track of who to listen to. 

"Stone!" Morgan snapped her fingers at him. "No rat, no treat!" 

Stone turned his snarl back on the cowering figure in the corner. 

"No way," said the rat, slowly sitting up, looking from Morgan, to Baird, and then staring Stone in the eye. "If you really are Stone, then we're mates. You're not going to hurt me." 

Stone hesitated. Cal barked, and he looked up, answering in kind. The sword, at least, was speaking his language. If Cal said to back down, Stone was going to back down. He stepped back, giving the rat — Ezekiel — space to get up. He sniffed the air. Old books and gun oil. Static electricity and flowers. And something gone sour that left a bad taste on his tongue. 

"Idiot dog!" Morgan spat. "There's nothing stopping me from killing you anymore. Do as you're told, or you're going the way of Old Yeller! Attack!" 

Stone twitched, training battling with instinct and leaving him paralyzed. He looked around the room, at Baird with a gun in one hand and her phone in the other, at Cassandra wringing her hands at her chest. Cal and Flynn circled each other like boxers preparing for a fight. Ezekiel lifted his chin, all attitude and bravado. Morgan stared down at him, incandescent in her fury. If he didn't attack, he was dead. If he did, he might as well be. 

He made up his mind. With a snarl of pure rage, he leaped. He just hoped he made it to Morgan's throat before she tore him to pieces. 

The doorway behind Morgan lit up, and as she and Stone tumbled end over end, they rolled themselves right into the Annex.


	6. Chapter 6

It was not Stone's most graceful fight, not even just during his time as a dog. He managed to land on top of Morgan mostly due to pure chance. He took advantage of that fact as viciously as he could, even as Morgan grabbed onto his collar with both hands to keep his teeth from reaching her throat. He shredded her dress with his claws, lunging against the collar's barbs, but the only blood he could smell in the room was his own. Her skin seemed impervious, impossible to break, but he thought, surely, if he could just get his teeth around her throat — 

Morgan brought one foot up and kicked him hard in the gut, swinging him by his collar and throwing him bodily across the room. Shots rang out as he struck the table hard enough to see stars, skidding across it and sending books, papers, and lamps scattering before tumbling to the floor on its other side. He was on his feet again in seconds, though, raring to throw himself back into the fight. 

A whole lot of people were shouting at him, too many for him to track. Baird and Flynn had put themselves between Stone and Morgan, Baird with her gun raised though none of her shots had done any damage yet, and Flynn holding Morgan back with a rapier. Morgan had yanked one of the swords from the umbrella stand by the back door, and she and Flynn fell into combat with a resounding crash. 

Cassandra grabbed for Stone, got a handful of collar and fur and blood, and immediately let go again. Stone darted past her, around the table, skirting past Ezekiel and dodging between Jenkins' legs. He ducked under Baird's desk, sending even more papers flying as he bumped gracelessly against it, and when he came out from under it on the other side, he had a clear shot straight for Morgan. 

Unfortunately, she had a clear shot at him as well. 

Morgan spun when Stone launched himself at her with a howl, leaving herself open to Flynn and Baird in favor of thrusting her blade into Stone's chest. Momentum drove the blade in deep, and as she swung it down, she threw Stone hard into the floor at her feet. Stone's howl died out into a whimper, as this time, she had no trouble at all pulling the sword back out. 

Another howl took up where Stone's had left off. Excalibur, weak and anxious from his own ordeal over the last several weeks, flung himself across the room and slammed tip first into Morgan, just below her ribs. He slid free again easily, wiped his blade against Morgan's torn dress, then bobbed up and away, well outside of her reach. 

Morgan stood and stared down as the wound began to bleed. She pressed her fingers delicately to it, her sword clattering to the floor by Stone's head. Stone stared up at her, his breathing labored, and when she met his gaze, he lifted his tail and let it thumb back to the floor in a final, defiant wag. 

"You." Morgan sneered, blood beginning to trickle out of her mouth. "You _stupid_ goddamned dog —" 

"What was it you were wondering, Ms. le Fay?" Jenkins asked, picking up her discarded sword with a faint smirk. "Ah yes. What _does_ happen when you give wound that will not heal to one that cannot die?" 

Morgan pressed her hand harder to her chest. The ambient energy in the room began to gather around her as she prepared a spell. 

"Oh no you don't." Baird fired another shot, striking Morgan's wound dead center and driving her back through the open back door into her castle chambers. Ezekiel and Cassandra slammed the door shut behind her, and Ezekiel gave the globe a quick spin to make sure the door was no longer connected. 

Stone let out a little sigh and closed his eyes. He hurt, and he was very, _very_ tired. 

"Stone." Flynn's hands were warm and soft, one on his neck, the other on his chest. "Hey now, don't you dare." He shook Stone gently until Stone cracked his eyes open again. "You just kept my best friend safe for me for a whole month. You don't honestly think I'm going to let you just _die_ now, do you?" 

Stone blinked at him, a bubble of blood forming on the end of his nose. He licked it off, tried to breathe in, and let what little air he got back out in a soft "woof". 

He'd been dead for ages now, hadn't he. His idiot brain was just only now catching up. 

Cassandra dropped to her knees next to Flynn, still wearing that terrible black robe. She held her hand out over his chest, staring into the air above him, and whispered something soft and silky. Stone got a little more breath on his next inhale, but he could still taste his own blood, heavy on the back of his tongue. "There," she said, letting her hand drop again. "That stabilized him for now, but he won't last long without —" 

"Bathsheba's oil?" Ezekiel suggested, holding up a glowing bottle. "I've been keeping it in the card catalogue. Might as well get _some_ use out of that dinosaur." 

Cassandra beamed as he handed it to her. "Yes!" She carefully unstoppered the bottle. Stone eyed it warily. "It's alright, Jake." She held the stopper by his nose so he could get a whiff. All he could smell was blood. "It's good magic, I promise." 

Flynn took the bottle from her and poured a little of the oil out onto the floor by Stone's mouth. "Stone," he said, voice soft but firm. "Drink." 

Stone eyed each of them again, then carefully stretched out his tongue and lapped it up. 

The change was immediate. One moment he was weak and fading, unable to do much more than look around and try to breathe. The next, he was fine. He sat up. Air came quick and easy, and full of the scent of flowers and of old books. Of gun oil and static electricity. And of something warm and ancient he couldn't name. It smelled like home. 

"Ezekiel," Baird said, clapping the thief on the back. "I could kiss you. I won't, but I could." 

Stone barked, bounding up to prop his front legs on Ezekiel's chest as he licked his face. 

"Oh my god, mate!" Ezekiel pushed Stone off, wiping furiously at his face. "Why is he still a dog?!" 

"Because swords don't transform people," Flynn said. "And Bathsheba's oil can heal wounds, not cure curses." 

"Okay." Baird held up her hands. "But when we all got transformed by the evil carnival, coming back to the Annex broke the spell." 

"I'm afraid the Amazing Mysterium had nothing on Nimue with regards to power, Colonel," Jenkins said, coming over to Stone with a very large pair of bolt cutters. "If you would hold still please, Mr. Stone." Stone wagged his tail a little warily, letting out a yelp when Jenkins took hold of his collar. Cassandra and Baird grabbed onto his hips to hold him in place. The collar came loose with a snap, clattering to the floor, and when Jenkins stepped back again, Stone followed, jumping up to lick the man's hands. "Ah — yes, yes — you're welcome." It was Jenkins' turn to back away this time, holding the bolt cutters — and all of his exposed skin — well out of Stone's reach. "I'm afraid it may be some time, yet, Mr. Stone, before we can return you to normal." 

Stone settled back on the floor, watching the expressions fall on his friends faces. His tail drooped, and he lay back down, resting his head on his front paws. Cal drifted down with a sympathetic whimper, and landed gently on the floor next to him. 

All they could do now was wait. 

It was the story of their lives.

*

"Mr. Stone," Jenkins called. It had been a couple of days, and everyone had recovered — for the most part. Jake looked up from the bed he'd made for himself in Jenkins' lab, ears half-heartedly perked. "There you are, Mr. Stone." Jenkins patted his hip and whistled. "It's time for your walk, sir."

Jake wondered if he and the others had noticed that they'd all picked up Cassandra's method of summoning him. 

He climbed to his feet with all the grace of a dog three times his age. Or maybe half his age — dogs didn't tend to live into their forties. And wasn't that just a cheery thought. He'd been having thoughts like those for three days now, ever since Flynn had strung an amulet of clarity onto a ribbon and looped it around Jake's neck. As far as collars went, it was several dozen steps up from the thing that Morgan had put on him, but he was still tempted to pull it back off. It was nice to be able to think properly and understand everything that was going on, but there were some benefits to the worry-free life of a well-cared for dog. 

On the other hand, as a dog he had no appreciation for the arts. Though he was getting tired of not being able to perceive Pantone's full range of colors. 

"Do you need your leash, Stone?" Ezekiel asked, as Jake followed Jenkins out towards the front door. "Or are you going to be good and leave the squirrels alone, this time?" 

Jake curled his lip at him half-heartedly. Ezekiel just smirked in return. 

"Getting you back for _so many_ games of fetch, mate." He pointed towards his eyes, then at Jake. "So. Many." 

"Ignore him, Mr. Stone," Jenkins called. Jake broke into a trot to catch up. "Were he in your situation he would give into far worse temptations than chasing a few squirrels." 

Jake sighed and waited for Jenkins to open the door. He nudged Jenkins' hand with his nose and barked as they stepped outside, his way of asking for a status update. Jenkins shook his head. 

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stone. Nimue's magics are . . . tenacious, to say the least. Everything I've found indicates that she's the only one who could restore you to your former self."

Jake growled, bumping Jenkins' leg with his shoulder. Jenkins reached down to scratch him between his ears. Jake ducked his head out of reach. He enjoyed those scratches too much, and right now, he wanted to stay annoyed. They were giving up. "We are not," Jenkins said, as though Jake had spoken aloud. "And we never will. But unless we find Nimue — _not_ an easy task, I remind you — I'm afraid it would take Merlin himself to help you." 

Jake hung his head and closed his eyes, letting the smells of the bridge and the river wash over him. Maybe he really would pull the charm off, then. At least for a little while. Life certainly hadn't been _easier_ when he was just someone's pet, but it had definitely been a lot simpler. 

An odd smell caught his nose, and Jake snapped his head back up, stopping in place, his ears and tail at alert as he looked towards the river's edge. Jenkins stopped next to him, following his gaze. "Mr. Stone, what is it?" 

Jake gave half a bark, paw raised, then took a few steps closer to the river. Ripples started spreading over the water's surface, counter to the usual little waves that lapped at the bank. Jake dropped into a crouch and let loose a furious round of barking, inadvertently alerting every other dog in the area that something was _not right_. 

Cassandra rose up from the water, dry as a bone, dragging Nimue along with her. 

"Cassandra!" Jenkins shouted. Jake rather thought he'd be pretty good at barking, himself. "What have you done?!" 

"Found a solution." Cassandra shoved Nimue to shore ahead of her and pointed to Jake. "Fix him." 

"Fiiiiine," Nimue groaned, yanking her arm out of Cassandra's grip. "I can't believe you called the Lake on me. After all the fun we've had —" 

" _Fix him._ " 

Jake backed up sharply, pulse racing as Nimue approached. He really hoped she wasn't going to take that order as a euphemism. In fact, he'd rather that Nimue wasn't here _at all_. . . . He tripped, landing on his ass as his legs suddenly took on a new shape beneath him. 

No, not new. _Old_. 

He let out a wordless shout, pressing his hands to his once again furless chest, then remembered his mouth could actually form _words_ again. "Thank you," he said, more breath than voice. He curled his hands into fists one finger at a time, staring down at them. He'd really missed having fingers. "Oh my god, Cassie. _Thank you._ " 

"Can I go now?" Nimue asked. "You people are weird." Cassandra nodded. Jenkins sputtered — continued sputtering, he'd never entirely stopped — then finally gave up, rolling his eyes into the air and slipping off his jacket, which he offered to Jake. Jake took three seconds too long to figure out why, but then he hurriedly pulled it on, wishing it had more than one button. It was long enough to preserve his dignity at least, even if he did feel a little bit like he was wearing his boyfriend's t-shirt to bed. 

"You've done a very nice thing here, Ms. Cillian," Jenkins said, voice low and dreadfully serious. "But I fear it was extremely foolish as well. Neither the Lake nor Nimue herself will not take that favor lightly." 

Also, Jake thought, Nimue now knew where they lived. By the time he remembered he could say that out loud again, Cassandra was already talking. 

"I know," she said. "Nimue taught me a lot about the Lake as well as about magic in general. She's a really good example of what _not_ to do, if nothing else." She looked solemnly down at Jake, where he was still sitting on the ground. "It was my fault you were stuck like that. I knew I had to make it right." 

Jake licked his lips and ran his hand over his face, still marvelling at having hands and proper lips again. "Don't be stupid, Cass. This was all on Morgan, all the way down." He slowly stood up, carefully checking his balance every step of the way, and couldn't keep from smiling when he got to see the world from his proper height again. He offered Cassandra his hand. "If you need help dealing with the Lake, let me know, okay? You can count on me." 

Cassandra smiled. "I know." She squeezed his hand, then reached up to ruffle his hair. He found himself leaning unconsciously into her touch, his eyes falling closed. "You're such a good boy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the fastest I've ever written, like, anything. I started this sucker FEBRUARY 7TH. And it's, what, 12 days later? And nearly 20k words? And the first draft was all in a notebook (including an expansion of the last chapter and a whole dream sequence that didn't end up working with the rest of the fic. . . .). 
> 
> Librarians, what you do to me. 
> 
> Anyway. THANK YOU SO MUCH for putting up with me eking this sucker out over six days. And thanks to those of you who commented each time as it went along. I love you all, seriously. You make writing fun.


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